


Compassion

by Coneycat



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:39:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coneycat/pseuds/Coneycat
Summary: There are a couple of old stories on my fic LiveJournal that I've been sort of planning to move over here, just to keep everything in the same place, sometime when I get around to it. Now that LiveJournal seems to be looking a little shaky I think "sometime" is now.From a prompt onNorsekink.Prompt is here.It features Steve Rogers being a very good guy, Tony Stark and Nick Fury being all right, and Thor being a really out-of-character monster. I'm sorry, Thor, I don't really think of you that way but I got interested in the prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

 

It was the third day Steve had come to the observation window to look into Loki's cell through the one-way glass. Tony had noticed, and was beginning to worry.

"You don't want to get too close to that," the Iron Man argued.

"He is not a _that_ ," Steve argued.

"Seriously, Steve, leave it alone. When Thor gets back, we'll let Thor deal with him."

_Let Thor deal with him._

Steve looked into the cell again, at the tall fragile figure inside.

_Let Thor deal with him._

When Loki was captured this last time, that was exactly what they had done: they had let Thor deal with him. Steve and Tony had even held the struggling trickster down while Thor had carved the runes in his body that would banish his magic. Steve remembered the cursing, then the screaming, and wondered what Loki had been feeling aside from the knife. He remembered the feeling of the trickster's strength ebbing from nearly-superhuman to merely... well, human. He'd let go of Loki's wrists and backed away, struggling not to be sick, as Thor made the final cuts in his brother's bleeding flesh.

 

And then Thor had stopped, looking down at his brother, and an expression came over his face that Steve couldn't recognize. But it was clear Loki did, because the pain and anger had drained out of the trickster's face, to be replaced with a look of recognition and then raw panic. "Please, Thor, no," was as far as he got before his brother turned him face-down.

By that time, of course, Thor hadn't needed anyone to help him hold Loki down. It had taken both Steve and Tony to pull him off, and Tony hadn't stepped in until after Thor knocked Steve halfway across the room. The thunderer had looked, well, barely human as he took his rage out on Loki.

Who had looked entirely, terribly human, with all his power and dignity and... _guts_... stripped away.

Steve had not realized until that moment that always he'd kind of admired the trickster's lonely defiance. The broken, trembling creature he'd finally wrapped in his own green cape and carried to the sickbay bore no resemblance whatsoever to that other Loki.

That was three days ago. Fury had used whatever pull or power he had to send Thor away for "debriefing," or whatever they called it when you were a powerful demi-god who had just let everyone know that apparently raping prisoners was A-okay in your culture.

And Loki had remained in this cell, the one they used to contain Banner when he lost it, as if he was still the shapeshifting magical trickster god. They probably could have held him in a bedroom with a reasonably sturdy door: he was refusing food and water, and the wound on his chest, at least, still bled through the bandages every time he moved too much. They'd taken away his clothes, of course, he was wearing a pair of sweatpants that belonged to Steve. He'd had one of Steve's plaid flannel shirts, too, until they took it away because he refused to wear it--he couldn't tolerate anything touching his bandaged chest wound--and Coulson decided they couldn't risk Loki using it to hang himself or something.

Steve hadn't realized before just how much of Loki's intimidating size came from his clothing. He was tall, of course: taller than Steve, nearly as tall as Thor. But he was as thin as a stray cat, all sharp planes and projecting bones. Steve's hands still burned shamefully at the memory of those fragile, skinny wrists writhing in his grasp as Thor carved Loki up.

Two of the SHIELD guards came down the hall. One was carrying a tray of food--limp vegetables, overcooked greyish meat, a paper cup that was probably water--and, the other, without a word or a glance at Steve, pressed the intercom button to warn Loki to move to the other side of the cell. The prisoner did, without protest. One guard covered him with a pulse-rifle while the other set the paper plate of food and the paper cup of water on the bolted-down table, then set down a plastic fork beside the plate.

Half an hour later, Steve was still watching, and Loki was still pacing at the far side of the cell, occasionally touching the bandage on his chest. He had not approached the food.

Steve had not gone to six different recruiting agencies in 1942 to support this kind of treatment of prisoners.

 

****

 

"Steve, you don't want to do this," Tony warned again, monotonously, then shrugged in disgust as Steve, ignoring him, pressed the intercom button.

"Please move away from the door," Steve said quietly. Through the one-way glass in the door he could see Loki look up in alarm at the change in routine. Previously, food had been delivered twice a day, and removed untouched twice a day. There had been no other attempts at contact, since with him neutralized as a threat it wasn't necessary to interrogate him, and it was obvious the trickster was suspicious of the change in routine.

No. Not suspicious. As Loki backed toward the wall, still facing the door, Steve recognized the same fear he'd seen as Loki realized what Thor was about to do to him.

He got the fear under control when he saw who his visitor was, which was a relief to Steve, who walked over to the table and sat down, placing the paper bag he carried on the tabletop.

"Hi," he said, with what he hoped was a pleasant little smile. Loki edged backwards, clearly trying not to show how alarmed he still was. Steve reached into the bag and brought out two sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper, paper napkins, and two cartons of milk. Loki watched him narrowly, and now his expression too reminded Steve of a stray cat, trying to work out whether it was safe to approach or wiser to flee.

Except, of course, he had nowhere to flee to.

Steve unwrapped the first sandwich and set it down on the far side of the table. He opened one carton of milk and put it beside the sandwich. Loki didn't speak but he was looking at the food, which had to be more inviting than anything limp and greyish that had been brought to him so far.

"I thought you were probably hungry," Steve explained, without looking up, as he folded one of the napkins into a neat triangle and laid it beside Loki's sandwich. In his current condition, Steve could flatten Loki with one hand and both of them knew it, so he wasn't too worried about being attacked. He was far more concerned with not spooking the prisoner any worse than he already was.

Loki still didn't speak, and Steve took the second sandwich, unwrapped it, and picked up one half.

"The food here is terrible, and you must still feel awful, so I thought maybe you'd prefer something else. There's this little sandwich place on the main street, they bake their own bread. Place smells wonderful. I didn't know what you'd like so I got chicken salad. I'm not sure what kind of bread this is, some kind of whole grain thing, probably good for you although it does take a lot of chewing--"

"What are you doing here?" Loki demanded, obviously trying for his old arrogance. It came out all wrong, his voice tremulous and rusty with disuse. Steve smiled, the same smile he would use to reassure someone he'd just rescued from one of Loki's destructive rampages, to tell them they were safe now that he was here.

"I thought you could use something to eat. And maybe a little company." He bit the corner off his half-sandwich, chew and swallowed, then opened his own carton of milk and took a drink. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Loki's throat work. "Look, I'm not going to do anything to you. I promise. And I'm really sorry for my part in what happened to you earlier."

Loki edged forward half a step. Steve carefully kept his eyes on the sandwich in his hands. In the same tremulous voice, Loki said,

"What 'happened' to me was justice. The Allfather decreed I must forfeit my magic in punishment for my crimes."

"I know that," Steve agreed. "But if I had known you'd be 'forfeiting' it like that, I wouldn't have agreed to help." He paused, and then added, "And I'm pretty sure the Allfather didn't order what Thor did to you afterward."

"No," Loki said quietly. He had moved a little closer still. Steve held perfectly still as Loki, with a ghost of his old feral grace, moved forward, picked up half of the sandwich on his side of the table, and backed away again. Steve waited a moment before looking casually up, to see Loki backed against the wall, holding his half-sandwich protectively in both hands, as though he expected the guards to come take it away from him. When he finally took a bite, Steve thought it must have taken the last remnants of Loki's self-control not to wolf like a starving animal.

Steve finished his half-sandwich and took another drink of milk. Loki swallowed his last bite and asked abruptly,

"Where is my brother?"

Steve felt an unexpected twist in his chest at that last word.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Fury sent him off somewhere to... convince him that this is not how we are supposed to treat prisoners."

"He does not treat prisoners that way," Loki replied. He had begun to move back toward the table, moving a little less warily, as though he was beginning to understand that Steve posed no threat.

"No?" Steve asked neutrally. He did not like the implication in Loki's words.

"No." Loki hesitated at the table, then sat down in the chair opposite Steve. He picked up the carton of milk and, to Steve's relief, drained it. He must retain some of his powers or he'd be dead of dehydration by now, but there was no way he wasn't desperately thirsty. Steve wondered now whether the runes in his body had contained some sort of spell to keep him alive long enough to face whatever might be waiting for him in Asgard.

"Then what was that about?" Steve asked, pushing his luck. Loki became fascinated with the waxed paper under the remainder of his sandwich, picking delicately at it. "Loki?"

Very softly, Loki replied, "That was not... the first time... he has served me like that."

Ah. Steve suppressed his own instinctive disgust, glanced up at Loki, and saw by the prisoner's expression that he did not expect to be believed.

"Yeah," Steve sighed. "I kind of thought that might be the case."

"You believe me?" Loki said, looking startled.

"I do. Nobody just does a thing like that out of a clear blue sky, no matter how angry they are. And you... you looked like you knew what that look on his face meant."

It was still possible Loki was lying, that Loki was manipulating, but Steve didn't think so. There was nothing in it for him. And a tiny bit of the tension went out of the body of the man across the table, as if in relief.

The last thing Steve wanted was to hear another word about this subject.

No, almost the last.

The _last_ thing Steve wanted was to be part of a team with someone who could behave the way Thor had to anyone helpless, particularly his own brother. And he needed to know.

"When did it start?" Steve asked. For a moment he didn't think Loki would answer. Then the quiet voice said,

"The first time, we were children. It was not... not what he did to me this time. He was only curious, I think. He was curious, and I was smaller than him."

"How old were you?"

Loki let out a small huff of laughter. "Time passes so differently on Asgard, it is hard to say. I still had milk teeth, if that helps. Thor knocked one out when I resisted him." Steve set his milk carton down on the table, next to the second half of his sandwich which he would never eat.

"Didn't you tell anyone?" Steve asked carefully. Loki finally looked up, met his eyes with a bitter little smile.

"Where do you think I first earned the name of a liesmith?" he asked.

"Oh," Steve said softly. Loki picked up the second half of his sandwich and bit into it, his eyes distant and inward. After he had chewed and swallowed, he went on, in a voice that sounded like something was pushing it out of Loki's throat.

"It did not happen often, and only when I had done something, something that truly warranted punishment. Or... repayment," Loki amended painfully.

"And nobody else knew? I mean, first-hand, so they believed it?"

"Thor's friends did, because they were sometimes part of it." Loki looked thoughtful. "I always believed Volstagg felt remorse, for he never actually participated. And he generally looked as though he wished he was somewhere else when he held me down."

"Jesus." Steve realized he was staring in horror and quickly looked down. Loki didn't seem to notice.

"As I say, it was a form of repayment. For letting me be part of their group." He glanced at Steve, defensive now, waiting for Steve's judgement on him for letting it happen.

"You must have been... terribly lonely," Steve said quietly.

Loki looked relieved. "Yes. And... it was not usually so bad. He did not normally go as far as he did, this last time."

"But he did sometimes?" Steve asked.

"Once. The time the dwarves sewed my mouth shut. There was an enchantment, that I could not free myself, but had to be freed by another. Thor's payment for doing so was..." Loki broke off at the expression on Steve's face, apparently apologetic for making Steve listen. Mechanically, he finished eating his sandwich, then carefully folded the napkin and waxed paper into tiny squares and stuffed them into the empty milk carton.

Finally, in a soft voice, Loki asked,

"What is to be done with me?"

Steve would have given anything for the ability to lie, but he replied, "When Thor comes back, he's going to take you back to Asgard."

"I thought so. The Allfather will place me in my brother's custody." There were not words enough in the English language to express the desolation in Loki's voice.

"He can't--" Steve began.

"Thor will insist, and the Allfather will grant his desire," Loki replied, absolutely positive. There was no doubt what he expected to happen afterward. Steve wished he could stop himself from thinking about it. "Thor will say I need to be guarded, and he is the only one competent to do so."

"I wish there was something I could do," Steve said, and he knew it was unwise. Loki looked at him, opened his mouth, then appeared to think better of whatever he was going to say. He looked back at the table, obviously thinking hard.

After another long silence Loki, eyes fixed on the tabletop, said carefully,

"I have no power. I probably will live only as long as a mortal on this realm. I cannot harm anyone."

Steve knew he should not listen to this, but he couldn't help himself.

"On Asgard, I can be kept alive by magic to fulfill my brother's whims and... desires. Please don't make me..."

Steve fought against the memory of Loki, pinned under Thor's weight, pleading, "please don't..."

He looked up at the cloudy green eyes across the table from him.

And he knew there was only one decision.

 

****

"I don't understand what he was even thinking," Tony said, his voice shaking, eyes stunned. "He can't have known--"

"Oh, he knew, all right," Steve replied. "I should have realized myself what he was really asking."

It hadn't been difficult at all to get Loki out of the cell--none of the guards were going to challenge Captain America. Steve had given Loki a change of clothes, walked him down the corridor as though escorting him to another cell or interrogation room.

When they got to the exterior door, Loki had turned to Steve with a genuine smile.

"Thank you, Steve Rogers," he had said. "It's best if I continue alone."

And then he'd pressed the panic button beside the door and stepped outside before lockdown. Steve, on his side of the door, had seen Loki walk out into the daylight and then stand as if waiting for something.

When Iron Man arrived, Loki had made a gesture that once would have conjured some sort of attacking spell. Apparently, Tony didn't realize Loki no longer commanded that magic.

Apparently, Tony also didn't realize that, in Loki's weakened state, a plasma blast to the chest would kill him.

Steve and Tony stood looking down at the huddled figure, all bones and angles and bared teeth. The eyes were blank and staring, and Steve wished he could believe he saw peace there.

"I don't want to be the one to explain this to Thor," Tony murmured apprehensively.

"I'll do it," Steve said grimly.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." Steve took a deep breath, then picked up Loki's body, adjusting him so the head leaned against his shoulder, and carried him back into the compound.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki had been dead for two days when he appeared in Steve's kitchen, wearing the same blue track pants and gray t-shirt he'd died in. 

At first, Steve thought he was hallucinating. It would have been understandable, since in the time since Loki's death he'd thought about little else, and he hadn't eaten or slept either. Coulson had sent both him and Tony, who'd actually killed the apparently-escaping prisoner, home, and had appeared later that afternoon to tell Steve he'd explained things to Fury. 

Steve had the feeling Coulson knew what had happened, that Steve was the one who let Loki out, let him get away, so he wouldn't have to go back to Asgard in his brother's power. Steve hadn't known exactly how Loki, stripped of his magic, intended to escape, but he realized later that Loki, in manipulating Iron Man into killing him, had chosen the one obvious way out. It hadn't helped Steve to realize that. It hadn't helped to know he had failed Loki because there was no chance of any other outcome. 

And now here he was, dead Loki, looking very much alive, black hair matted and green eyes wild as he looked around the room. Steve got up from his seat at the counter and moved hesitantly toward him. 

"Loki? Is that really you?" he asked stupidly. 

Loki looked at him, his expression scared and defeated. "I thought I could die," he explained. "I thought if I died..."

"But you couldn't," Steve said gently. He'd never been quite sure how much of this Asgardian thing was actual godhood, and how much was simply them being extremely powerful aliens. It still wasn't clear. 

What was clear was, Loki had definitely been dead when Steve picked him up and carried him back into the Avengers' compound. He had definitely been dead when Coulson drew back the sheet so Thor could say goodbye. Steve had stayed around for that--he'd told Tony he would explain matters to Thor, and he'd explained them, all right. And if that was the last time he ever spoke to the God of Thunder, well, that was okay, too. 

Loki had definitely been dead. 

And now here he was, looking more than ever like a stray cat, one that had been starved and had rocks thrown at him and was hiding under the porch of the only person who set out food for him. Like one sudden move would send him streaking in a panic out into traffic. 

Loki shook his head, still holding Steve's eyes. "I woke up. I was on a metal table and I was alone. I didn't know... I have nowhere to go. And you had been kind to me and I thought..." He was actually wringing his hands, long skinny fingers twisting around each other, his whole body trembling. In what sounded like a desperate effort to mimic Earthly social niceties, he added meekly, "I know I should not disturb you--"

Steve forgot about not making any sudden moves. He took two steps forward and Loki froze, closing his eyes and hunching his shoulders as though resigning himself to whatever Steve intended to do to him. 

Steve hooked one arm around Loki's skinny neck and pulled the Asgardian/ Jotun/ supervillain/whatever he was toward him, laying a hand on the back of the scruffy head, his other arm coming up to wrap around Loki's torso. Loki remained rigid in surprise as Steve hugged him, although after a moment he hooked his chin over Steve's shoulder, as if that was as close as he could come to admitting the touch was welcome. At the same time, he certainly wasn't pulling away. In fact, if anything, he was cautiously leaning closer.

Perhaps it was that, the desperate reserve, the feeling that what Loki actually needed wasn't power or minions or whatever the hell Steve had always thought motivated him, that made Steve do what he did next. 

Quietly, in Loki's ear, Steve said, "I am very glad you're not dead. You don't have to go anywhere until you're ready to. I'm glad you're not dead."

And felt the tension very slowly begin to leave the body he was holding. Loki reached up and hesitantly took hold of Steve's shirt, a fold in each hand, as if reluctant to push his luck by touching Steve himself but desperate to maintain the contact. 

When the knock came on the door, Loki twisted loose, glanced frantically in the direction of the sound, hit the floor in the shape of a black-and-white cat, and darted under the couch. Steve started to go after him, there was a louder knock, and Steve decided he better deal with that. 

"It's okay," he called, hoping Loki could still understand him. "Stay there if you want to, but nobody's going to hurt you here."

When he opened the door he certainly hoped he hadn't lied, because on the other side of the door was Nick Fury. 

"Can I come in?" the director of SHIELD asked perfunctorily, already moving forward. Steve stepped out of the way, resigned. He was probably here to formally cashier Steve. What kind of job prospects were there for ex-superheroes? 

Fury made directly for the living room and, without invitation, sat in the one armchair. Steve decided he didn't have to wait to be invited to sit, not in his own apartment, and walked over to the couch. 

"So," said Fury. "I understand you let our prisoner go."

"Yes," Steve replied, deciding he would not give the SHIELD boss the satisfaction of hearing him make excuses. 

"Want to tell me why?" Fury asked casually. 

Well, as long as he was asking...

"Geneva Convention," Steve replied grimly. "He was powerless and helpless, and we were not only treating him inhumanely, we were going to hand him over to be tortured."

"What makes you think he was going to be tortured?" Fury asked. 

"I _saw_ him being tortured, okay? I _participated_ in some of it. I joined the Army in '42 to _stop_ that kind of thing, not to _be part of it._ "

Fury shrugged. "Some people would say the end justifies the means," he suggested. 

"I know. Hitler, for one." The two men stared at each other for a moment and then Steve asked, "So what happens now? Do I hand over my shield, or do you rip the star off my chest, or--"

"You take a little time to get your head together, and then you come back," Fury said calmly. "You're going to have to work with Thor, no way around that. There are threats to this planet that only this group can handle, and we need all of you to work together."

"I can't do that," Steve muttered. 

"You think Churchill and FDR wanted to work with Joe Stalin?" Fury asked. "You don't have to like him. You don't have to be pals with him. Hell, I don't feel much like being pals with him, myself. I know what he did, and I don't like it either, but we need him, and we need you. I know why you were chosen for that super-soldier program, Rogers. You were chosen because someone knew power wouldn't corrupt you. We need that." 

"And you're just going to forget I tried to let Loki go?" Steve asked. 

Fury shrugged. "Might have done it myself. We had to promise him to Asgard, for diplomatic reasons, but you're absolutely right, we'd have been sending him directly into hell. That Odin guy is merciless. When I made the deal, before we actually caught Loki, I figured Thor would make sure nothing happened that would keep me awake at night. Didn't quite work out the way I expected it to." Fury shook his head, then looked down at Steve's left ankle. "When did you get a cat?" he asked. 

Steve looked down and saw the head peeking out from under the couch, half-hidden behind Steve.

"Oh. He's, he's a stray I picked up. It... seemed like the thing to do." 

Fury had already surprised Steve several times during this interview, and apparently he wasn't through yet. He leaned down and wiggled his fingers, saying, "Hey, kitty." 

Steve felt the slightest pressure on his ankle as the skinny cat leaned into him for cover. Then the cat leaped up on the couch next to Steve and pressed into his thigh. Steve found himself rubbing the cat's head and dragging his fingers down the creature's fragile, ribby body. The cat leaned into him. 

Fury sat up. "Probably a good thing for you to do. Lotta bullshit gets talked about cats, all that 'aloof, unfriendly' stuff. When I was a kid, my brothers and I picked up a few stray cats. They were always the friendliest pets we had. Cats are... grateful, or something. They know when they've been rescued." Fury looked sharply at Steve. "Don't call him 'Loki.'"

"Why would I call him that?" Steve spluttered. 

"Because he's on your mind and you wish you'd been able to rescue him, too. Won't do you any good to torment yourself. Give him a normal cat name, like Socks, or maybe Sneakers. Yeah, Sneakers is a good name." Fury nodded to himself. "If you tell anyone about this conversation, I'll deny it and people will think you've lost it. Call me when you're ready to come back, and try not to brood about it." Fury rose to his feet, said, "Goodbye, kitty," and let himself out of the apartment. 

The cat moved away from Steve. After an interval that probably represented him waiting for the coast to be clear, Loki reappeared next to Steve on the couch. He looked very slightly less panicky than he had when he first arrived, and when Steve reached over to touch his shoulder, he froze but didn't flinch away. 

"Are you hungry?" Steve asked gently. "I'm pretty hungry. Let's go see what I have for us to eat."

 

********

 

It wasn't that Steve missed the maniacal supervillain he'd fought so many times, not exactly. But dying, even thought it hadn't taken, had done something to Loki, had stripped away all the complicated layers of anger and jealousy and hatred and more anger and lust for power and yet more anger, all the defensive structures that had seemed to make up the foundation of his personality. 

It turned out that the actual foundation of Loki's personality was more like a gaping hole, a desperate need for... whatever it was that you needed when you had been abandoned as a baby, and taken in by custodians who figured you might come in handy one day but felt no need to get attached to you, and the only people who offered you any contact at all demanded every scrap of your self-respect in return and made you afraid of the consequences of asking for companionship. 

Whatever it was you needed when you spent a thousand years watching other people love each other, and nobody ever, ever loved you. 

Steve had always remembered Bucky, his childhood friend and protector, with affection and gratitude, but until now he hadn't realized just how much gratitude he should feel. Nobody should be as broken as this, no matter what he had done. It certainly changed Steve's perspective on _why_ Loki had done some of the things he had. 

The worst part wasn't the raw need, which made Loki shadow Steve's every step either as himself or as a cat. The worst part was how scared he was to admit to it. Steve started to wish he'd spend all his time in cat form, because you could pet a cat, rub it behind the ears and under the chin and massage its spine, and the cat didn't think you wanted to touch it any other way. 

Because of course that had come up, it had to, as if despite Steve's sympathy and outrage there could only be one reason for Steve putting up with Loki's presence, and Loki felt it was best to get the payment out of the way as quickly as possible. 

"No, you don't understand," Steve found himself saying that first night, clutching the bedclothes like a damsel in some stupid old movie, thinking, _This is what it was like when he was too little to take it out on anyone else. They used to make him volunteer._ "You don't have to... _do_ anything. It's okay."

Loki looked at Steve like he really didn't understand what his host was saying, and Steve realized that of course he didn't, all he knew was that he was being rejected again, even though he had humbled himself completely, even though he'd offered instead of making Steve take him by force. 

And, Jesus, maybe he was thinking now that force was how Steve preferred it, because he was looking scared again. Or maybe he thought this was going to end with him out on the streets alone, in no condition to look after himself at all. 

Steve pushed back the bedclothes and got up, putting an arm around Loki and walking him gently down the hall to the foldout couch he was supposed to be sleeping on. Steve wished he had a guest room, something with a door. He supposed, though, that Loki knew Steve could break open a door any time he wanted to. Maybe locking doors was something he'd tried before this and that hadn't protected him, either. 

"Okay. Listen to me," he said, keeping his voice gentle, keeping the anger out of it, because the shape he was in you'd never convince Loki the anger wasn't directed at him. "I don't want anything from you. Nothing. I like you--" because that was suddenly true, or at least he felt so much sympathy for him it might as well have been affection--"and I want to help you. You don't need to worry I'm going to make you... do anything... in return. Okay?"

"It is not shameful on this realm, for men to lie together," Loki said, as if that was the problem, as if that was all that was holding Steve back, as if he still thought there would be consequences for not letting Steve do what he assumed Steve wanted. Steve took a deep breath and reminded himself he was dealing with a thousand-year-old abused child. 

"You're right, it's not," he said. At least, it wasn't now, although when Steve was growing up he'd certainly been taught differently. The world had not changed entirely for the better since he was a kid, but Steve was definitely in favour of the kinds of changes that made people safer when they were acting harmlessly like themselves. "It's not at all shameful, when the men want to be together and love each other." Because, okay, there were things Steve had believed, growing up, that had stuck. He went on, "But not all men want that from other men. I don't. All I want to do is be your friend, okay? I've had good friends who helped me when I needed them, and now it's my turn to help you. Okay?"

Loki chewed his lower lip and looked doubtful, but he nodded. Steve patted his shoulder reassuringly. 

"Nobody is going to hurt you here," he said firmly. "I promise. Go to sleep." He felt less ridiculous than he would have expected, practically tucking his guest in and then ruffling his hair the way Steve's own mom used to do when he was at the stage where he found kisses embarrassing. 

And then he looked down at Loki, lying rigid and still scared under the blankets, as if he knew there were nightmares waiting for him. Steve sighed again. 

"Scoot over," he said quietly. Loki cast a glance at him that was a complicated mixture of fear and relief and resignation, one that turned to surprise when Steve simply lay down beside him, on top of the covers, slid an arm under and around him, and pulled the trickster against him the way he would a scared little kid. Loki moved closer without comment, and eventually fell asleep. After a little longer, Steve did, too. 

He woke up the next morning with a black-and-white cat snuggled into the crook of his neck. It was purring in its sleep.


End file.
